


Away From Here

by TravelingSong



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Red and Lizzie go on a trip, companion piece to This Year's Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelingSong/pseuds/TravelingSong
Summary: "He carefully crosses the threshold and finds her as expected, hidden underneath the covers, a faint outline in the dark. Slowly, he closes the distance and sits down on her side of the bed. He's made the right choice, he knows, because there's nothing that could possibly compare to this. To be able to simply look at her, let the tranquility settle around them, the luxury of permanence. Of having a home with the woman he loves."





	1. Couldn't You?

**Author's Note:**

> My hiatus fic. It's a bit of a companion piece to This Year's Love, a quasi sequel if you will, so I would recommend reading that one first in case you want to know how Red and Lizzie got together. But this fic works by itself as well. 
> 
> Enjoy and leave me a comment if you can. They make my day and motivate me to keep writing.

Just a bit of courage. That's all it took.

He couldn't have imagined where the proposition he declared in her office all these months ago would lead him. It was her company he had sought, a few days spent up on the coast, the house big enough for the two of them and she had felt alone, too, she had told him one of those evenings, and she had been so glad he asked. So very glad.

A Christmas tree and a dance and a kiss. That's all it took.

To finally allow themselves to face the truth and cross the last lines, to acknowledge what they had, what kept them waiting for the other, neither scared any longer and the words out in the open. The certainty that this was how life could be like now beyond the hurt and the secrets. Their way home.

The promise of a future.

That's all it took.

* * *

 

It's been a long week, a seemingly endless week, and when he finally unlocks the front door and enters the house it feels like a burden is lifted. Like he can breathe again.

He used to enjoy these trips, didn't really care where they took him. Days filled with negotiations, risky and dangerous, possible betrayals and unanticipated cooperation. He used to enjoy the thrill of it all, the unpredictability. Sometimes he didn't care if he ever came back. It didn't really matter. There was no one waiting for him. Not a single phone call he had to make.

It had become such a trivial concept, the idea of a home, of being missed. And then everything had shifted.

His steps are heavy as he walks down the hall and towards the bedroom, but he tries to make as little noise as possible, assumes she's fast asleep. It's a lucky coincidence that he's back a day early, and maybe he should have paid closer attention to what his acquaintances were telling him, maybe he should have stayed, but he just wanted to see her, needed to, really. Wanted to fall asleep by her side again. It hadn't't been easy, these past few months, with the lives they led and the perils that lingered, and reality was rarely forgiving. She worked too much, and so did he, the time spent together not nearly enough and the longing ever present. Now that they had each other, he just wanted to be near her.

He carefully crosses the threshold and finds her as expected, hidden underneath the covers, a faint outline in the dark. Slowly, he closes the distance and sits down on her side of the bed. He's made the right choice, he knows, because there's nothing that could possibly compare to this. To be able to simply look at her, let the tranquility settle around them, the luxury of permanence. Of having a home with the woman he loves.

He brushes his fingers softly across her cheek, presses a kiss to the very spot, once, twice, until she stirs and opens her eyes.

"Hey," she whispers sweetly, her drowsy smile the most charming sight. "Welcome back."

He watches her sit up, her movements a bit clumsy, he thinks it's rather endearing, and then he feels her arms tighten around him and his hands pulling her closer on their own accord. Instinctively, naturally.

She doesn't say anything, simply concentrates on the pattern of his breathing and how it evens out with every second that passes between them, she's missed him so terribly and phone calls could never do this justice, reaffirming messages could never do _this_ justice. He feels warm and _good_ , the comforting motion of his thumb sliding across the nape of her neck, his lips against her shoulder, the secrets he hides there. _Lizzie_.

She pulls away suddenly, lets her hands trace the side of his face, the stubble on his chin, the lines beneath his tired eyes. Leans in and kisses him.

He won't leave her again anytime soon, he thinks.

He couldn't possibly bear it.

* * *

 

He wakes as the sun rises outside, perfectly rested despite the early hour. Her presence has always helped his fitful routine, it's become a reliable remedy now, her hushed affirmations in the night whenever the demons of his past came back to haunt him.

He turns around and finds her staring at him, the contentment in her gaze beautifully evident.

"You should be sleeping," he notes quietly but he knows she enjoys these intimate moments in the morning as much as he does. When the world seems far away.

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Did something happen while I was gone? Should I be worrie—" She cuts him off with a kiss, a rather effective method she's determined, unfair as it may be, but what she plans on telling him shouldn't concern him. It's really quite the opposite.

"There's no reason to worry, Red. Everything's fine." She moves closer to rest her head on his pillow, wants him to listen carefully. "I think we should go on a trip."

"A trip?"

"Yes." She smiles reassuringly, reaches for his hand and links their fingers. "I think we should leave for a while. Some time away from here."

"Will the FBI let you do that?"

"I can be pretty convincing, remember?"

"And where would we go?"

"Somewhere warm, preferably. Near the ocean."

She knows he can't help his pragmatism, it comes with the job and she understands the impulse, the questions, but her motives are simple and perfectly mirror his own.

"We deserve a break, Red. We deserve spending time with each other. We deserve not having to be constantly scared about what might happen to the other when we're apart. We deserve a bit of peace."

She's right, of course. And he finds her proposition fairly brilliant.

"It does sound tempting," he agrees.

"And we could go sailing—"

"You're good at this, Lizzie."

"And theres's this sundress I'd really like to show you—"

"You're much too good at this."

She grins at him victoriously, seductively.

"My point is, Red, I could really use a vacation." Another kiss, her closing argument, sweet and lasting, all lazy sighs and silent pleas. "Couldn't you?"


	2. Time and Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! I'm sorry this update took a bit longer than expected but I hope it was worth the wait. Let me know your thoughts :)

Some things never change. Like the way she knows _just_ how to convince him.

Her carefully crafted arguments, the casual mention of a sundress, her lips against his and the knowing smile she can't conceal, how her fingertips travel down his spine and mend the scars there, how she pulls him towards her, how she makes him forget about everything else in the world.

_So, what do you think?_

He really didn't have much of a choice.

_I think we should start packing._

* * *

"You're not telling me where we're going?" she had asked him over dinner the next evening, her tone the slightest bit disappointed, but he had wanted it to be a surprise, another trick up his sleeve. She'd find out soon enough. He had hugged and kissed her hair in playful consolation, promising that it would be worth the wait, reminding her that criminals didn't always play fair and that good things came to those who wait, feeling her laugh into his neck. "In that case, maybe I'll leave the dress at home," she had teased him, his look of indignation almost immediate. They had been up in the air an hour later.

She's already asleep across from him, her body reclined in a way that makes his back hurt just from looking at it, but she seems comfortable and he doesn't want to wake her. It's natural now, these small things, displays of honesty and trust, yet he reminds himself frequently to not take them for granted. It had taken time and patience to get to where they are now, every fraction of it. He's not a sentimental person but he has thought about these instants often, the sweet contrasts, the self-inflicted distance between them thawing over the years.

He remembers her eyes growing tired as she sat across from him, a file open in her lap, her concentrated gaze scanning the pages with too much effort. _Would you like to lie down for a bit_ , he had asked her, concerned she was pushing herself too far, but she had declined the offer, had told him she was fine, ever the defiant one. She wasn't _fine_ , couldn't have been, and they had both known it, with the workload as overwhelming as it was and not a day of repose in-between cases, but he wouldn't lecture her. There was no use. He had moved to the back of the plane to take a phone call, had returned after a few minutes to find her fast asleep and pieces of paper scattered on the floor. He had reassembled them with care, had put it all back together without stealing a glance at the confidential material because it wouldn't have been fair. Quietly, he had put a blanket over her and retreated. Just a bit of trust, just the strength to admit weakness. The courage to let someone help her. They could work on it together.

He remembers her drifting off for a while, their mission completed and the flight back to Washington taking longer than expected, until he had noticed her watching him with a curious expression, compassionate and sympathetic. _Don't you ever sleep, Red,_ she had inquired softly, genuine concern tinging her voice, and he had responded with a quick nod, _I do_ , he had told her, _on occasion_. But it hadn't been enough, her gaze unwavering and the profiler rising to the surface, _why never in my presence_ , and he couldn't help the self-deprecating chuckle escaping him, _because I want to keep you safe_. It's all he knew, constantly looking over his shoulder, ready for the next tragedy, but it had been so much more with her, her life much more precious than his own and her protection the one thing he could provide. He had expected protest, a challenge, but had received a smile instead, understanding and appreciative, with the words calming his restless mind. _Thank you._

He remembers the moment that had knocked everything off-balance. Another night on a plane, their escape still making the headlines, their minds and bodies exhausted. _You don't always have to be the strong one,_ he had told her, his hand covering hers, her tears no longer hidden. _But neither do you, Red,_ she had responded, with emphasis, like she meant it, and something within him had burst open, something had changed irreversibly. The realization that she cared about him, too. That she thought about him. That she worried. The slightest tremble in his fingers that had grown stronger and stronger, pounding and begging, until he had pulled away and formed a fist, stifling the hope shaping there, breaking the connection. The sensation of her skin against his suddenly overwhelming and the implications too good to be true. _You should get some rest,_ he had said with feigned poise, rising to leave to grant her some privacy until she had stopped him. _Would you stay, Red? Keep me company?_ Whatever she needed from him. Whatever he could offer. The illusion of something more. _Of course, Lizzie._ The words steady and calm once again, the tremble perfectly under control. _Of course._

She seems too far away now, the memories echoing in his conscience, vivid and urging, and he decides this won't do and that maybe he could use a bit of sleep, too, decides that everything will be fine. There's nothing chasing them anymore.

He gets up and moves to the seat next to her, watches her stir and lean into him immediately, that ever-present pull, a bit of chemistry and wonder. Something like fate.

"Are we there yet?" she mumbles drowsily and he smiles, tells her they still have a few hours to go.

"You'll wake me in time?"

"Yes, Lizzie."

She rests her head against his shoulder then, finds a more comfortable position, and he pulls the blanket over the two of them. With a content sigh, he kisses her temple and closes his eyes.

It's as it should be, he thinks.

Time and patience.

He wouldn't change a thing.


	3. Worth The Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm incredibly sorry for the long wait on this chapter. I was on vacation myself and busy with work when I came back, so unfortunately I couldn't update in time. I do, however, hope this chapter was at least worth the wait. The next one will be up much sooner.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I would love to know how you liked it. Enjoy!

"So, about that sundress..."

"What about it, Red?"

"Well, I was thinking about a walk on the beach and such a  _special_  occasion calls for a certain attire, don't you think, Lizzie?"

"Does it now?" she plays along, watches him approach her with confident steps, leans in slowly when he's right in front of her.

"Definitely." His voice a dark whisper near the corner of her lips. Just a bit of teasing. "Definitely."

They had arrived mere hours ago, the sunrise accompanying them along the final minutes of their journey, the world suddenly a different one. He had taken his time showing her around and she had understood quickly why he had picked this particular place as their destination. The white sand, the scattered palm trees, even a hammock in-between two of them, the view of the ocean from the bedroom, the way the sunlight streamed through the windows in perfect patterns, yes, that too. They had entered a postcard, a secret waiting to be shared, where life moved at its own pace, where all obligations of their life in the city faded away.

_Away from here_. He had kept his promise.

* * *

She finds him on the porch looking out over the water, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. He's changed, too, she notices, has picked a black polo and light beige pants over his regular suit, a straw hat over his wool fedora. She still has to remind him occasionally that not everything requires the look of a business meeting, that there's no fault in dressing down a bit if the circumstances call for it. That his armor doesn't always have to be in place. The first time she saw him in pajamas, she could barely stop staring.

She moves closer, smoothes the dress for full effect, likes the way the colors shine in the bright daylight. This will do just fine.

"So, what do you think?"

He spins around, surprised at her presence behind him, and stops at the sight of her. He doesn't say anything, a rare occurrence, she knows, simply looks at her instead, an almost inaudible  _wow_ leaving his lips.

"No clutch this time," she notes with a smile, waits for him to remember.

He's shaken from his reverie then, steps in and kisses her softly, his fingertips tracing the patterns on her side.

"Still worth the trip." His hand reaching for hers. "Well, shall we?"

* * *

They spend the afternoon walking down the shore, the sand smooth beneath their feet, the sun warming their skin. She can't remember the last time they've both been at ease like this, with no thoughts of work or cases clouding their minds, just the two of them, something so deceivingly ordinary. Except these simple things had always been the hardest part. Nothing about them had ever been  _simple_. And they still had so much to discover.

"So what's our plan while we're here?" she asks, splashes some water into his direction.

"Plan? Lizzie, this is a vacation. We don't make  _plans_  here. Personally, I'm perfectly content with our activities so far," he responds with a hint of mischief, follows the lines of her dress with his eyes.

"And what do I get in return for the dress?"

"I wasn't aware this was a negotiation. But, if you insist," he kneels down and picks up a glistening shell, swipes the sand away with his fingers and hands it to her, "how about a souvenir?"

"You're a sentimentalist at heart, Red."

"A little sentimentality has never hurt anybody. I cherish it. Makes us appreciate the significance of singular moments. How happy we felt."

"And you're happy now?"

He smiles at her with a sincerity that makes her heart ache, a thousand declarations flashing behind his gaze. Purposefully, he reaches for his hat and places it on top of her head, arranges her hair to make sure it fits properly to shield her from the sun.

"As happy as I never thought I could be again." He places a kiss on her check, lingers a moment to whisper in her ear. "And not just because of the dress."

* * *

He offers to cook them dinner.  _Another souvenir_ , he tells her. She just rolls her eyes in mock irritation.

She loves his cooking, of course, and he's well aware, often prepares some of her favorite dishes when she's had a long day so she doesn't have to survive on late-night snacks at the office. He enjoys the meticulosity that advanced cooking requires, how it helps his mind to focus. She enjoys the quiet moments at the kitchen table, when he somewhat impatiently waits for her to take the first bite. She's never been disappointed.

"How much time have you spent here over the years?" she asks while she inspects the fully stocked cabinets.

"Not as much as I would have liked."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not sure, actually. It can get quite lonely out here, which I don't mind, but I think I would have preferred to share it with someone. It felt almost selfish to keep it to myself. I've never been as comfortable here as I should have been."

"And it's different with me? It's different when I'm here with you?"

"Yes." He assembles the ingredients on the counter, gets the utensils he needs. "It's not lonely anymore."

Later in the evening, as the sun is setting beyond the horizon, he leads her outside to the hammock she spotted earlier, sits down and tries to find the right balance,  _Lizzie_ , makes room for her to join him,  _come here_. It takes them a bit of adjusting, a bit of practice until they're both comfortable, but her contagious laughter makes the effort well worth it, he thinks.

"I hope no one was around to see that," he notes self-deprecatingly, can't fully hide his chuckle.

"We'll get better at it," she responds with a smile and finally looks up, the night gradually covering them like a blanket, a familiar spark coming into focus.

"Look, it's Polaris."

He notices it, too, at that very instant.

"How do you know?" They rarely speak of that night on the ship. Sometimes he thinks he dreamt it.

"Someone taught me once. He told me it's how sailors used to find their way home."

"Sounds like delightful company."

"He has his moments."

She takes a long look at the star-speckled sky, focuses on the tranquil rhythm of the breaking waves in the distance and tightens her arm around him.

"Red?"

"Yeah?"

She always wanted to hear his side of the story.

"Let's go sailing tomorrow."


	4. What do you see?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Pure happiness (I hope). Thank you all for reading and commenting- it makes my day. Enjoy!

He wakes her early with a kiss on her cheek.

"The boat is waiting, Lizzie," he whispers as he sits back and watches her. He's been up for almost an hour, preparing their excursion and making breakfast, leaving her undisturbed. If she wants to learn how to sail, he thinks, she'll need all the rest she can get.

"The ocean isn't going anywhere." It's hardly more than a mumble, her somewhat irritated response, her words muted by the pillow she's clinging to so devotedly.

"But the French toast I made will." There's an edge to his voice, as if he can't quite hide a smile, and she doesn't miss it.

"You're not playing fair."

"Force of habit."

She turns towards him then and leans against the headboard, lets the sheet drop just a bit too low.

"So I should probably get dressed?" she asks innocently. Another game she's become rather good at.

"Well, I simply wanted to let you know breakfast is ready." He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, all feigned nonchalance and ease, wonders why they waited so long to take a vacation. "I think your current attire works just fine."

* * *

 They make a great team. Just as he predicted.

He starts slow, teaches her the basic terms, simple techniques that will determine their direction, but she absorbs it without effort, is eager to assist him with more intricate tasks. It's how they spend their day, one challenge after the other and every test passed with pride,  _you're a natural_  and  _I learned from the best_ , teasing and careless laughter, the wind guiding them along the bay. It's in the late afternoon when he drops the anchor into the water, giving them a chance to rest.

"I was right," she notes while sitting down next to him. She likes the intimacy of the cabin, the warm colors of the wooden panels lining the interior of the boat.

"About what?"

"That you make a terrific captain."

"Flattery will get you just about anywhere, Lizzie," he responds earnestly, making her smile. These are her favorite moments, the amiable banter between them, knowing things hadn't always been this easy.

"May I ask you something, Red? About that night on the ship?"

"What would you like to know?"

They had never discussed it at length, both keeping the memory tucked away safely in their minds.

"What do you remember?"

"The pie, mostly."

"Red."

"I'm not sure we have enough time for that, Lizzie." He might never stop talking if he revisits every detail.

"But you can try." Just a bit of encouragement. "We are in the perfect spot for it, don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right." He still doesn't know where to begin, takes a deep breath and lets the words find their way. "It had been an endless day. There were times I wasn't sure we would make it out of the diner together, that maybe I had miscalculated the risks. I didn't want you to be terrified but you were. I could sense it every time I was near you. The fear in your eyes, your nervous movements. The second we stepped inside the shipping container I was flooded with relief. We were safe, if only for a night. We had regained some sense of control, the most valuable currency in my world. And yet, something was wrong. You seemed distraught, preoccupied. You explained to me how you couldn't stand the way people were looking at you. And then you looked back at  _me_. Not with pity or anger or distrust but with a sincere understanding. You looked at me with sympathy, something I hadn't been at the receiving end of very often. And then I raised my glass in a silent toast. To your safety, yes, but also to this unspoken reconciliation between us. You called me a sentimentalist yesterday and you were right. With the life I've chosen, it's impossible to persist without memories to ground you. To guide you through darkness just like the stars I pointed out to you that night. That's what our moments on the ship became to me. A ray of light."

It seems impossible to process everything at once. How vividly the memory had replayed in her head while listening to his recollection, how softly he had spoken the words.

"What about you?" he asks quietly. Her turn.

"I remember your expression," she starts. "There was an openness about it, as if you let me see a part of yourself you usually kept hidden. Just a glimpse, and then it was gone. Out of reach as quickly as it appeared. I remember the music streaming out into the night. I remember your gentle grip on my arm when you led me outside and how it took you a bit to let go. I remember thinking that no one had ever done something like this for me and how at least for a few minutes, nothing else mattered but the view and the company I got to share it with. I remember that I replayed the moment over and over in my head that night, unsure what it meant, unable to fall asleep. Your words echoing in my head, a way home,  _your_  way home. I remember wishing that you had held on a bit longer."

"I should have."

"Maybe so. But do you recall what you told me?  _You have to make your choices. You have to try to be happy with them._ I  _am_  happy, Red. I wouldn't have changed a thing. Everything happened the way it was supposed to."

_Fate._

There's nothing he could possibly add. Nothing he could say. Instead, he gets up and walks over to the shelf at the other end of the cabin. He finds it in a second, the cover he's looking for, the choice so very obvious but the sentiment so sincere. When the needle hits the record, when she understands his intention, she approaches him slowly.

He takes her hand in his, guides her closer as he's done many times over the past few years,  _our house_ , an embassy, a Christmas holiday,  _is a very, very, very fine house_ , sways them back and forth in calm motions as the familiar tune surrounds them.

"Do you keep a record player on all your sailboats to set the mood?" she whispers into his shoulder.

"Only if I plan on showcasing my comprehensive knowledge on celestial navigation."

"An effective seduction method, I'm sure."

"Impeccable."

He feels her breath tickle his neck, can imagine her amused smile.

"Why didn't you meet my eyes when we were standing outside on the ship?" she asks quietly and he misses a beat, is taken aback by her question. He's grateful she can't see his expression.

"I couldn't have," he begins. "I was afraid it would uncover things I couldn't take back."

"Like what?"

He concentrates on their movements. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"That I cherished the idea of you coming to me for help. That despite the circumstances I savored the time we spent together, fleeting as it may have been. That I had you on my side. That…" He can't finish it, the confession so heavy on his tongue even now, and she stops and pulls back, breaking their rhythm.

"What, Red?"

She thinks she knows the answer.

"That I loved you, Lizzie. And that was my burden to bear, not yours."

She was right.

* * *

They return to the house around sunset, spend the rest of the evening on the porch sharing a bottle of wine before the weather changes and a storm forces them inside. They're soaked, the tropical rain heavy on their skin, and he leads her down the hall and into the bathroom, turns on the shower and helps her undress.

"I don't want you to catch cold," he tells her while removing her sweater, and she raises an eyebrow at him, hasn't even shivered once since their retreat. "Better safe than sorry, Lizzie."

As she steps in and lets the warm water run over her, he doesn't move.

"Come on," she offers with a smile as she leans to the side to make room for him. "I don't want you to catch cold."

Later, as they're facing each other in the middle of the bed, their bathrobes discarded on the floor, she can't quite shake her curiosity.

"When you look at me now, what do you see?"

It's a complicated question, one he could elaborate on for hours because he doesn't know where to start, a cornucopia of answers in his mind, the small details, the formative revelations, the superficial observations, all of it blending into something deeper, and when he kisses her, all closed eyes and soft sighs caught in the back of his throat, with his hand pulling the sheets tighter around them and his fingertips tracing her outline, she already knows the answer.

"Home."


End file.
